There remains a slim possibility that in the next few days, Senate Republicans will pass the health-care proposal known as Graham-Cassidy, the legislation that party leaders have described as their “last, best chance” to substantially repeal the Affordable Care Act.

But for that to happen, the bill’s champions would have to win back the vote of at least one of the three Republicans who have signaled their opposition. They’d have to persuade multiple others to abandon their previously stated positions on the sanctity of protections for people with preexisting conditions. And they’d have to lock down still more Republicans who balked on Monday at changes to the legislation that were made expressly to secure their support.

Until Monday evening, Republicans seemed to have at least a chance at pushing the measure through. But the repeal effort may have died altogether when Senator Susan Collins of Maine became the third—and for now, decisive—Republican to come out firmly against the Graham-Cassidy plan. Collins joined Senators John McCain of Arizona and Rand Paul of Kentucky in opposing the bill, with several others wavering. With unified Democratic opposition, Republicans can lose no more than two on their side and still have Vice President Mike Pence cast the tie-breaking vote to pass it. Collins formalized her position in a lengthy and highly critical statement moments after the Congressional Budget Office released a preliminary analysis finding that the Graham-Cassidy proposal, like previous GOP plans, would result in “millions” fewer Americans having health insurance.

Even before the Collins statement, few Republicans were willing to predict its passage before a September 30 procedural deadline for enactment on a party-line basis. Not President Trump, who seemed resigned to its failure during an interview on an Alabama radio show. Not Senator Orrin Hatch, the chairman of the Senate Finance Committee, who told reporters it would be “nearly impossible” to pass Graham-Cassidy moments before he convened the lone hearing that Congress plans to hold on the bill. And not Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell, who was silent on the question of whether the proposal would even receive a vote on the Senate floor.

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Written by Senators Lindsey Graham of South Carolina and Bill Cassidy of Louisiana, the bill would cap Medicaid spending and convert about $1.2 trillion in funding for Obamacare over the next decade into block grants for states, which would have broad latitude to opt out of the law’s core insurance regulations. Graham and Cassidy have pitched it as a federalist approach to health care, allowing states to design health-care systems that best fit their populations and their political leanings. But it has run into overwhelming opposition from virtually the entire health-care industry, and on Monday senators witnessed the emotions of the debate first-hand as more than 100 protesters—some who have disabilities and were dragged away in wheelchairs—were arrested at the outset of the Finance Committee’s hearing.

Most ominously for Graham and Cassidy, their bill has yet to overcome the underlying divide that has stymied Republican repeal proposals for months. The two senators had earlier boasted that they were “inside the five-yard line” and had 47, 48, even 49 of the 50 Republican votes they need to pass their plan. But they’ve been essentially stuck for more than a week. Graham failed to win over his close friend McCain, who officially announced his opposition over the GOP’s rushed process on Friday after tanking an earlier repeal plan in July.

Paul has steadfastly denounced the bill from the right, calling it “fake repeal” that merely reshuffles Obamacare spending from blue states to red ones. After signaling that he might be open to negotiations over the weekend, Paul on Monday rejected a revised version that would make it easier for states to wriggle free of the law’s insurance regulations, including the central prohibition on insurers charging higher rates to and imposing lifetime limits on people with preexisting conditions. The Kentucky conservative said on CNN he’d only support the bill if its block grants—the central feature, according to Graham and Cassidy—were removed.

And on Monday, Collins confirmed she was equally out of reach despite the fact that the revised bill offered Maine significantly more money than the original version. “It’s not for Susan, it’s for the Mainers,” Cassidy told TheWashington Post about the changes, which critics promptly likened to a bribe. Collins had opposed each of the GOP repeal proposals and said Sunday in television interviews that it was “difficult to envision” a scenario in which she would vote yes on the Graham-Cassidy plan. And then there was Senator Lisa Murkowski of Alaska, who has given no indication of which way she’s leaning but who, like Collins, opposed the previous Republican bills. Graham and Cassidy made a transparent, even blatant, attempt to win Murkowski’s vote by steering money back to Alaska in the new version of the bill they released Monday morning.

Appearing on CNN, Cassidy acknowledged that if he and Graham could not win over Collins, their bill was likely dead.

Against those increasingly long prospects came the Senate hearing on Monday afternoon, which Hatch led without evident enthusiasm. Hundreds of activists lined the halls trying to get in, and most of those who made it into the hearing room were ejected for disruptions as it began. “If you can’t be in order, then get the hell out of here,” Hatch snapped at one point. He warned that he would adjourn the hearing entirely if things got out of hand. “It hasn’t got to that point yet, but it’s close,” the chairman said.

“Maybe we’ll find a common way forward. I don’t know.”

The hearing proceeded even as chants of “No cuts to Medicaid!” were audible from those protesting outside. Inside, there was little consensus on policy and none of the bipartisan bonhomie that accompanied hearings earlier this month in the Senate health committee, where Republicans and Democrats discussed narrower fixes for Obamacare rather than repeal. Graham and Cassidy testified in support of their proposal, and they were on the defensive from the beginning as they tried to rebut the arguments from Democrats, governors, insurance commissioners, industry experts, and even some of their fellow Republicans. “Maybe we’ll find a common way forward. I don’t know,” Graham said. He cast the widespread criticism of the bill as coming from those who were benefiting under the status quo. “Everybody opposing my bill is a big winner under Obamacare,” Graham said.

Cassidy was appearing before a committee on which he serves, but he clashed with senators nonetheless. When Senator Ron Wyden of Oregon tried to pin him down on whether his proposal would maintain Obamacare’s ironclad protection for people with preexisting conditions, he refused to answer directly. “Mr. Chairman, let the record show that our colleague does not want to answer the question,” Wyden said, prompting Hatch to urge him to treat Cassidy nicely. Cassidy also asserted that bipartisan efforts to fix the current law had not happened, in direct contradiction to the negotiations that were occurring in the Senate health committee until Republicans pulled out last week.

As the hearing stretched into its fourth hour, senators and the panel of six witnesses managed to delve into policy specifics and debate the potential benefits of states trading more flexibility for less money on health care. But the hearing seemed to come too late in the process to change many minds. Republicans on the committee were by and large supportive of the Graham-Cassidy proposal, while Democrats were universally opposed. The bill’s fate would be decided outside the room, either with the last-minute conversion of a long-standing critic, or a final public verdict by one more opponent that would seal its demise. On Monday evening, Collins stepped in with the latter.

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After a year of uncertainty and unhappiness, the president is reportedly feeling more comfortable—but has he really mastered the job?

It was a fun weekend for Donald Trump. Late on Friday, Attorney General Jeff Sessions fired Andrew McCabe, the outgoing FBI deputy director whom Trump had long targeted, and the president spent the rest of the weekend taking victory laps: cheering McCabe’s departure, taking shots at his former boss and mentor James Comey, and renewing his barrage against Special Counsel Robert Mueller.

Trump’s moods shift quickly, but over the last week or so, a different overarching feel has manifested itself, a meta-mood. Although he remains irritated by Mueller and any number of other things, Trump seems to be relishing the latest sound of chaos, “leaning into the maelstrom,” as McKay Coppins put it Friday. This is rooted, Maggie Haberman reports, in a growing confidence on the president’s part: “A dozen people close to Mr. Trump or the White House, including current and former aides and longtime friends, described him as newly emboldened to say what he really feels and to ignore the cautions of those around him.”

Invented centuries ago in France, the bidet has never taken off in the States. That might be changing.

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Americans seem especially baffled by these basins. Even seasoned American travelers are unsure of their purpose: One globe-trotter asked me, “Why do the bathrooms in this hotel have both toilets and urinals?” And even if they understand the bidet’s function, Americans often fail to see its appeal. Attempts to popularize the bidet in the United States have failed before, but recent efforts continue—and perhaps they might even succeed in bringing this Old World device to new backsides.

How evangelicals, once culturally confident, became an anxious minority seeking political protection from the least traditionally religious president in living memory

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Trump’s background and beliefs could hardly be more incompatible with traditional Christian models of life and leadership. Trump’s past political stances (he once supported the right to partial-birth abortion), his character (he has bragged about sexually assaulting women), and even his language (he introduced the words pussy and shithole into presidential discourse) would more naturally lead religious conservatives toward exorcism than alliance. This is a man who has cruelly publicized his infidelities, made disturbing sexual comments about his elder daughter, and boasted about the size of his penis on the debate stage. His lawyer reportedly arranged a $130,000 payment to a porn star to dissuade her from disclosing an alleged affair. Yet religious conservatives who once blanched at PG-13 public standards now yawn at such NC-17 maneuvers. We are a long way from The Book of Virtues.

A new six-part Netflix documentary is a stunning dive into a utopian religious community in Oregon that descended into darkness.

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As the Trump presidency approaches a troubling tipping point, it’s time to find the right term for what’s happening to democracy.

Here is something that, even on its own, is astonishing: The president of the United States demanded the firing of the former FBI deputy director, a career civil servant, after tormenting him both publicly and privately—and it worked.

The American public still doesn’t know in any detail what Andrew McCabe, who was dismissed late Friday night, is supposed to have done. But citizens can see exactly what Donald Trump did to McCabe. And the president’s actions are corroding the independence that a healthy constitutional democracy needs in its law enforcement and intelligence apparatus.

McCabe’s firing is part of a pattern. It follows the summary removal of the previous FBI director and comes amid Trump’s repeated threats to fire the attorney general, the deputy attorney, and the special counsel who is investigating him and his associates. McCabe’s ouster unfolded against a chaotic political backdrop that includes Trump’s repeated calls for investigations of his political opponents, demands of loyalty from senior law-enforcement officials, and declarations that the job of those officials is to protect him from investigation.

The first female speaker of the House has become the most effec­tive congressional leader of modern times—and, not coinciden­tally, the most vilified.

Last May, TheWashington Post’s James Hohmann noted “an uncovered dynamic” that helped explain the GOP’s failure to repeal Obamacare. Three current Democratic House members had opposed the Affordable Care Act when it first passed. Twelve Democratic House members represent districts that Donald Trump won. Yet none voted for repeal. The “uncovered dynamic,” Hohmann suggested, was Nancy Pelosi’s skill at keeping her party in line.

She’s been keeping it in line for more than a decade. In 2005, George W. Bush launched his second presidential term with an aggressive push to partially privatize Social Security. For nine months, Republicans demanded that Democrats admit the retirement system was in crisis and offer their own program to change it. Pelosi refused. Democratic members of Congress hosted more than 1,000 town-hall meetings to rally opposition to privatization. That fall, Republicans backed down, and Bush’s second term never recovered.

For years, the restaurateur played a jerk with a heart of gold. Now, he’s the latest celebrity chef to be accused of sexual harassment.

“There’s no way—no offense—but a girl shouldn’t be at the same level that I am.”

That was Mike Isabella, celebrity chef and successful restaurateur, making his debut on the show that would make him famous. Bravo’s Top Chef, to kick off its Las Vegas–set Season 6, had pitted its new group of contestants against each other in a mise-en-place relay race; Isabella, shucking clams, had looked over and realized to his great indignation that Jen Carroll, a sous chef at New York’s iconic Le Bernardin, was doing the work more quickly than he was.

Top Chef is a simmering stew of a show—one that blends the pragmatic testing of culinary artistry with reality-TV sugar and reality-TV spice—and Isabella quickly established himself as Season 6’s pseudo-villain: swaggering, macho, quick to anger, and extremely happy to insult his fellow contestants, including Carroll and, soon thereafter, Robin Leventhal (a self-taught chef and cancer survivor). Isabella was a villain, however, who was also, occasionally, self-effacing. A little bit bumbling. Aw, shucks, quite literally. He would later explain, of the “same level” comment:

Congressional Republicans and conservative pundits had the chance to signal to Trump that his attacks on law enforcement are unacceptable—but they sent the opposite message.

President Trump raged at his TV on Sunday morning. And yet on balance, he had a pretty good weekend. He got a measure of revenge upon the hated FBI, firing former Deputy Director Andrew McCabe two days before his pension vested. He successfully coerced his balky attorney general, Jeff Sessions, into speeding up the FBI’s processes to enable the firing before McCabe’s retirement date.

Beyond this vindictive fun for the president, he achieved something politically important. The Trump administration is offering a not very convincing story about the McCabe firing. It is insisting that the decision was taken internally by the Department of Justice, and that the president’s repeated and emphatic demands—public and private—had nothing whatsoever to do with it.

Among the more practical advice that can be offered to international travelers is wisdom of the bathroom. So let me say, as someone who recently returned from China, that you should be prepared to one, carry your own toilet paper and two, practice your squat.

I do not mean those goofy chairless sits you see at the gym. No, toned glutes will not save you here. I mean the deep squat, where you plop your butt down as far as it can go while staying aloft and balanced on the heels. This position—in contrast to deep squatting on your toes as most Americans naturally attempt instead—is so stable that people in China can hold it for minutes and perhaps even hours ...